


The Man Who Cried For Ezekiel

by marshmellow_melmel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, High Fantasy, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Characters, LGBTQ Themes, Loose Magic System, Love, Magic, Magic-Users, Original Characters - Freeform, Original work - Freeform, Platonic Love, Platonic Relationships, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28104024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmellow_melmel/pseuds/marshmellow_melmel
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue

I woke that night with the sounds of a wailing man. His struggling cries of rebellion were accompanied by boots stomping in the mud, the squelching and splashing beating down like the beating of your heart. My mother was already up, eyes wide like a frightened doe preparing to flee. She sat straight up in our bed as she looked out the window. The reflection of flickering flames licked against the spotty panes. The organized footsteps, the orange flames, the screaming man - we both knew what was going on. Everyone in the village did.

My mother leapt out of bed frantically. She rushed to hold my face, her eyes boring straight into mine. While her eyes were frightened, her gaze was stern, and I knew I had to listen to whatever she had to stay. “Edel, stay here,” she ordered, “Do _not_ go outside. You understand?”

I nodded, never breaking eye contact. I did not question why - there was no need to. She did not want me to see what the Masked Ones would do.

She tenderly kissed me on the forehead before darting off hurriedly. The front door creaked loudly before it slammed back shut, making me flinch as our rickety house shook from the impact. I stood completely still, stiff and straight by the edge of the bed. The flickering light was now farther off - near the town centre.

This hadn’t happened for a while - it had been almost a year since the Masked Ones punished a sinner. At least, to this degree.

The screams of burning sinners haunted my nightmares. Their pleads and cries for mercy were scored into my head - a constant reminder to never disobey the word of the Lord. If you did, the Holy Ones would be angry, and the Masked Ones would punish you.

I took a deep breath. My mind was racing with thoughts, fear, adrenaline - I needed to relax. I exhaled, letting fear escape me, and regained control. I stepped towards the window, cracking open the window just a tiny bit so I could hear what was going on. 

I could see the town centre in the distance, the Masked Ones now standing at the stake, tying down the struggling man. Dry straw surrounded the wooden stake that the man was being tied to. Behind the stake was a grand statue of one of the Lord’s Holy Men, looking down ominously at the stake before him. The fire lit up his face, and accentuated the gaze of his cold, empty eyes.

The orange light from the Masked One’s torches made their white robes glow. The robes swept down to their ankles, still clean despite the fresh mud from the recent rain. The cloaks they donned overtop draped just over their shoulders. They were made of pure white doves’ feathers, and while hard to see in the distance, I’ve seen the cloaks enough times to know the intricate embroidering of gold thread across the edges of the garment. When the man was tied securely to the wooden stake, they turned outward, facing the crowd gathering around them. The Masked Ones adopted their name for a reason, as the white masks they wore had an intimidating regality to them. Pure white feathers framed their eyes, sharpening their gaze. Each feather splayed out from the center of the mask, like the wings of a hawk perched upon its branch, preparing to soar and strike down in its prey.

From my window, I could barely see the man, but his body was struggling and writhing against the stake, uselessly fighting his bounds. One of the Masked Ones, the leader of their pack, stepped out in front of the man, holding his torch high above his head. Despite how far away I was, I could hear his loud, booming voice:

“People of the great kingdom of Lumen! People of the Lord!” he preached, “Let me present to you, a man who has committed _GREAT_ SIN!” The people hummed worriedly as he stepped aside, harshly pointing his torch towards the snarling man. The flames flickered so close to his face that sparks brushed against his hair. “THIS MAN has _disobeyed_ the word of the Lord! He has not only been falsely using the church’s _magic_ ,” he emphasized, leaning forward to accept the crowd’s gasp, “but he has _also_ engaged in unholy acts with another man!” The crowd was shocked, murmuring, whispering, and shifting, a hundred writhing worms stuck in one tiny bowl.

The man at the stake started chuckling, the crowd going quiet. The Masked One snarled. He turned to face the man directly, grabbing his face and piercing right into his eyes. “What do you dare to be laughing about, sinner?” he scolded. The man just started laughing harder, throwing his head back. His laughter was unhinged, unsettling, sorrowful.

“I _loved_ Ezekiel!” he spat, “Call it ‘sin’ all you want, but it was love.”

“Sinners are incapable of love,” the Masked One said. He pointed at the man. “Look at the way Dark One has infected his mind, and is now trying to feed you _lies_. Take him as an example to not succumb to the Demon’s filthy words!”

The man scoffed. “I didn’t succumb to anything- and I especially won’t succumb to _bastards_ like you!”

The Masked One’s mouth morphed into a deep snarl, and you didn’t need to see behind his mask to see the harsh furrow of his brow. He turned to the man, grabbing him by the collar, and hissed into his ear. The words he spoke were too quiet to be heard from where I stood, but his lips and tongue moved like that of a venomous snake, snapping and hissing into his victim’s ear. 

He stepped back from the man, grimacing as he looked at him up and down. The raggedy man just smirked right back at him. His eyes were tired, his face smeared with mud, but his smile, while bitter, was not one of defeat. 

The Masked One beckoned the others to come forward. Four of the other Masked Ones carrying buckets full of oil splashed them upon the man. He flinched slightly as the liquid crashed against him, yet his smile never left his face. He looked up at the sky, tired, lost, sorrowful; hopeful.

The Masked One lifted his torch in the air again, making a grand gesture to capture the attention of his audience. “Loyal worshippers of our Lord, our Savior, look upon the sinner before you! Take note of the cries of a sinner as he burns into ashes, and straight into _hell_.” He threw his torch into the ground, setting the straw ablaze. The fire quickly encircled the pitiful, smiling man.

The man faced upwards, following the ashes as they burned into the night sky, and took one last look at the stars. He bellowed, “My love, Ezekiel! I’ll see you again one day, I promise. I’ll see you again in the afterlife.”

He bellowed, “My love, Ezekiel! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I must now leave you alone, but you will make it in this treacherous world. Please, my love, keep your strength even without me!” The flames’ hungry roars and crackles came closer to him, the blazing red licking rampantly at the edge of his shins.

He bellowed, “My love, Ezekiel! I beg you, hear my pleas! I love you, I love you, Ezekiel! Please move on without me! Please live on happily! I love you, please Ezekiel-” He cried in pain as he started burning. His skin broiling and set ablaze. Tears streaked down his face, as he desperately pleaded to the sky again.

He bellowed, “ _Please_ Ezekiel! Live long without me! Live freely! Escape this place and find love again!” He smiled one last time, tears streaking down his face from the pain of burning skin.

He said, “My love, Ezekiel. . . I’ll see you again one day. I promise.”

He bellowed no more.  
Not a word was said,  
Not a sound could be heard,  
Not a rustle or a peep,  
Except for the loud crackling of the flames.  
And not a word was said as they died down.

I closed my grimy window, it let out a creak as it shut.

My mother came through the door, and not a word was said when I rushed over to her and sobbed into her arms.


	2. The Man in the Woods

“Edel!” the basket of laundry slammed on the table, startling me out of my trance. My mother looked at me sternly, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground. 

“Yes, mom?” I responded.

“Can you recall anything that I just said from the past ten minutes?” she asked.

“Well, you asked me to- well. . . uh,” I opened and closed my mouth, trying to recall what was just said to me. “I, well. . .” I hung my head in defeat. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

My mother sighed. “Edel, you have to get your head out of the clouds,” she teased. The phrase had become all too familiar with me over the years.

“I know,” I groaned.

“Don’t give me lip now,” she scolded, “Anyways, I asked you to go and purchase some eggs from the market.” She dropped some silver coins into my hands. “That should be enough for a dozen.

“Alright,” I said, stretching out of my chair, giving my mother a kiss on the cheek before heading for the door. I grabbed my white bonnet, slightly tinted yellow from its years of use, and tied it around my head before heading outside. It felt warm today, so I disregarded my shawl and put the silver coins in the pocket of my apron.

The street was bustling with running children, laughing in the late morning sun as they chased each other down the cracked cobblestone roads. Some women were outside hanging their laundry out to dry, while the old man at the end of the street was playing his old mandolin for his grandchildren. I smiled to myself as I headed to the town centre, hearing the distant yells and shouts from the busy market place. 

I reached the town centre, the statue of a Holy Man glowing brightly in the sun, looking down at the bustling crowd below. I began weaving through the condensed crowd of people as I made my way to the poultry stand. Little pieces of passing conversation brushed against my ears as I walked past:

“Seven copper tils? They were only _four_ yesterday!” a woman whined.  
“How much for a pouch of sugar?” another inquired.  
“That will be 2 silver tils for the pork belly, ma’am,” a vendor said.

The chatter and disputes from every direction merged together in discordant harmony, creating the familiar song of the town center near noontime. People bumped and shoved past each other trying to find the right market stalls, and I do the same as everyone else.

I finally arrived at the poultry vendor’s stall. Another man was just leaving the counter, the vendor gathering up the tils and plopping them into the pocket of his apron - the bulging pocket bounced as he added the coins to it. He was grinning to himself before he noticed me, and his eyes lit up even more upon seeing me approach the counter.

“Well good morning, madame,” he chirped.

“Good morning. . . sir.” I couldn’t quite match his enthusiasm. “How much would a dozen eggs be?”

“That would be six silver tils!” he sang.

_Six? Since when were eggs six silver tils?_ I fished out my coins from the pocket of my dress, and to my dismay, I only had five. I grimaced.

“Well. . . it seems that you don’t have enough to pay for the full dozen,” he said.

_Maybe because eggs are normally on 3 silver tils._

“But maybe I could lower the price if- well, I dunno if it would be appropriate to ask. . .”

I cocked my head to the side. “What would lower the price?”

He smirked to himself, perching his head on the counter like a cat, smugly lying across a window sill. “I would consider lowering the price if. . . you would allow me to court you.”

_What?_

“I- excuse me?” I stuttered, completely dumbfounded. _Did he really have the audacity to just. . . request that of me?_

“Yeah, I’d lower the price if you date me,” he said, like it was the most reasonable conclusion that anyone could come to. “I’d love having a pretty face like yours be the one that I marry.”

_Oh, absolutely not._

“While I’m. . . flattered by your request,” _I most certainly am not._ “I um, I am not interested?” _Never in a million years would I ever think to marry you._ “My mother would live alone, and would be upset if I married so young - see I’m still three years ‘til I’m twenty-”

“Oh, that doesn’t matter, I’m only nineteen still.” he said, “And I have no issue with your mother living with us.”

I was holding back from telling this guy to just let me buy my damn eggs, my smile so forced into my face that my cheeks were getting sore. “I’m sorry sir, but I am not interested in courting anyone at the moment. Maybe when I am older, but not now. I’ll just take half a dozen instead.”

He did not seem to like my proposal. “But- ma’am, are you sure you don’t want that _dozen_ -”

“I’m sure,” I stated.

The smile snapped right off of his face, his eyes glaring down at me as he turned to retrieve the eggs. He tied up the pouch haphazardly and turned back to me.

“Three silver tils.”

I held out my three silver tils, and he snatched them right out of my hands. I recoiled back a bit. I went to take the eggs.

“Thank you-” but before I could take them, he held the bag two feet above the counter, and snapped his hand straight, letting the eggs land to the counter with a solid _crunch_.

I stared at the pouch, blood rushing to my head as rapidly as the yolk was leaking out from the inside. “What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” I shouted, feeling several people swiftly turning their heads towards us.

“What’s wrong with _me_? You’re the insane one.”

My hands gripped to the front of my skirt. “How am _I_ the crazy one? I came here to buy eggs for my mother, and instead you stole my three tils.”

“I didn’t _steal_ ,” he pointed to my eggs, pressing a smile into his face, “your eggs are right there!”

I wanted to kill this man. “You _broke_ the eggs I bought because I wouldn’t court you.”

“You, a woman, rejected the authority of me, a _man_.” Several people murmured around us, now looking at _me_.

“You don’t have _authority_ over me when I’m trying to buy eggs!”

He scoffed. “So you disobey the word of the Lord?”

“What? No- of course not! I-”

He smirked, once again so pleased with himself. “Well the word of the Lord is that you must obey me.”

More people started looking at us, murmuring about us, murmuring about me. I shuffled uncomfortably. He looked down upon me, grinning with victory laced between his teeth.

“We’re at the market-”

“The word of the Lord applies anywhere. You know that, don’t you?”

I backed away from him, squirming in my spot as his eyes bored straight into my head. His gaze was a snake, trapping me in it’s tail and squeezing my insides. I could not escape not only his gaze, but the gazes of the crowd around us. The chatter about the market turning into chatter about the _disobedient woman_. 

The woman _with such a whore’s mouth_.

The woman _that dares challenging His authority._

The woman _who probably commits nothing but sin._

_Sin._

_Sin._

_Sinner._

The chatter got louder than louder, his grip on me getting tighter, and I felt like my bones were cracking like eggshells, my blood vessels bursting like yolks, my insides bleeding and I couldn’t escape. The voices got louder and louder and louder, chattering to murmuring, to disgusted looks.

My feet skidded across the pavement as I broke out into a run. I shoved past the people in the crowd, bursting through the sea of buyers, just wanting to get away. I darted into the nearest alleyway, escaping from the crowd, escaping from all eyes as I ran, and I didn’t stop.

I didn’t stop running until I was well into the woods. The brick houses and paved roadways far away from me as I pounded against the dirt path. I broke off the path into the brush, and finally collapsed in a patch of tall grass, catching my breath.

The canopy of green above me let little light through, only allowing little beams to speckle across the ground here and there. A little to my left was a large break in the canopy - a decently sized pond, geese swimming across the surface. Some ducked their heads under the water, holding their tails high and waving their webbed feet across the surface. I chuckled to myself at the sight.

Then, I noticed something odd.

Across the border of the bond, intricate little threads of water started rising from the bond, crisscrossing from the surface and creating patterns and designs. It got about 3 yards high, before abruptly splashing back down.

Then it started up again, The threads of water rising back up, just like they had a few seconds ago.

I sat up straight and rubbed my eyes with my hands. I stared back at the lake and saw that, yes, what was happening was, in fact, _real_ , before the water splashed back down into the pond.

I was confused. This was obviously magic, but only the Holy Ones can use magic. Why would a Holy One be out in the middle of the woods?

I got up and went closer to the pond. I stayed behind the trees to avoid being seen by the magic-user, scaling the edge of the pond. I could hear the source of the magic getting closer as I walked around the pond, the familiar ringing of a magician’s power. Eventually, I found the source: it was a man.

However, he wasn’t a Holy One, nor did he look like a civilian. He did not don the white robe that the church’s magicians would wear, and he also did not wear the cotton trousers or overcoat of a civilian - he didn’t even have a hat! Instead, he wore trousers, loose around his skinny legs, made from various different colored patches, tucked into well-worn leather boots. On top, he wore a large cloak made of deerskin, and his jet black hair was shaggy and wild.

He raised his arms as he controlled the water from the pond, fingers moving delicately, seemingly making the threads of water weave in and out of each other. He then slammed his arms down, the water splashing back into the bond accordingly. He laughed to himself, light and joyfully.

I tentatively stepped forward, away from the woods and into the light. He didn’t seem to notice me as I was behind him. I built up the courage to finally speak.

“Hello?” I asked timidly.

He froze, his body now completely stiff. He snapped his head towards my direction, and we locked eyes. His eyes were brown like tree bark, wide and terrified as he looked at me. Without a second thought, he darted off into the woods.

“Wait!” I yelled, “Come back!” I chased after him, getting caught into the thick brush of the forest. He was well over ten meters ahead of me.

“Please!” I begged, out of breath. “I want to talk to you! I won’t hurt you, I promise!”

He continued to run, and before I knew it, he was gone. No sign of him anymore, not a sound. I stood in the middle of the empty woods, and I could see the sun start to set from beneath the canopy.

“Where have you _been_?” my mother asked as the door creaked open. She was waiting for me by the table, tapping her fingers along the edge. I closed the door behind me, leaning back and slumping against it. She looked at me up and down, now becoming more frantic.

“What _happened_ to you? Why are you all covered in dirt in leaves?” She started brushing off the grime from my now ratty clothing.

“I wasn’t able to get the eggs today,” I said, looking down at my feet. “The vendor got mad that I wouldn’t court him, so he took our tils and smashed the eggs that I bought.”

She sighed. “Edel, I don’t care about the _eggs_ -”

“Well you lost three silver tils to them-”

“Edel!” she yelled, the slam of her hand against the kitchen table commanding my gaze to finally meet hers.

“I could care less about the damned eggs or the tils,” she squalled, “I’m concerned about _you_.”

I shifted as her gaze held me in place. I looked back down at my shoes, muddy from my trek back through the woods.

My mother sat pulled out a chair for me to sit in, and sat at the opposite side of the table. “So, what happened?” she asked.

I sat down in front of her, looking at the stained, chipped wood on the table. I exhaled, letting the tension eaze out of my body. I told her about the man at the market, the people staring, and how I ran into the woods to get away from the crowd.

I didn’t tell her about the man that I saw.

“Oh dear,” was all she said, letting us sit in silence for a while.

“Well, I’m sorry dear,” she told me. “I hope you know that telling him no was the right thing to do-” 

I snickered. “Well I’m glad you agree-”

“However. . .”

_Oh._

“When it comes to things like these, especially when you’re in public, you just need to walk away from the situation,” she explained.

“But. . . _Mom_ -”

She shushed me. “Edel, I _know_ that you want to defend yourself - _trust me_ I know how you feel - but you, being a young woman in a country where men rule, even just defending yourself against a man can get you in trouble.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but I closed it back up again. My face felt hot and my muscles were so tense I felt like they were gonna snap. I couldn’t argue with her - she was right.

My mother sighed again, the sad sound of exasperation that was so common for me to hear. To be widowed and left with a child to raise, having no help from anyone, having to look out for yourself and your daughter in a country ruled by a doctrine written by men - all these things my mother had to go through. And she was tired. So, so tired.

She came up to me and hugged me close to her. “Edel, you know I just want you not only to be happy, but also to be safe,” she told me, and I could tell she was keeping her voice from cracking as she spoke to me. She alway did that, putting up a facade of strength - but you can’t keep up a facade for seventeen years, no matter how hard you try.  
“I know, it’s hard to have both but,” she held my face and looked at me directly in the eyes, her own filled with tears, but her gaze stern and strong like it always is. “I want you to live in this world without fear, and I’m so sorry Edel, because I know it’s impossible.”

“I know, Mom,” I mumbled, feeling my throat close up as I spoke. “I’m sorry. . . I’m so, so sorry, Mom,” and I couldn’t stop the tears as they overflowed onto my cheeks.

“No no, honey,” she shushed, gently brushing my hair behind my ear. “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.” She held me close, rubbing circles in my back as I found solitude in her hold. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

I stared up into the ceiling as my mother slept beside me, holding my hand close to her heart. My eyes traced the familiar cracks that traveled up the wall, and then up to the rotting wooden beams that supported the rooftop above.

The image of the man could not escape my mind. His bulky deerskin cloak, his slender, delicate hands, his wonderful _magic_. He was very peculiar, and now that I’m aware of his existence, I’m perplexed.

How is he allowed to use magic? Is he Holy One? Why would Holy One be wearing rags though? Why would a Holy One live in the middle of the _woods_?

Who was this man?

I needed to know. I needed to know how he could use magic. I needed to know why he lived out by himself. I need to know how he’s avoided the Holy Ones.

I stared at the ceiling knowing nothing about this man except for one thing, and that was that I needed to know more.


End file.
